


Fear Come True

by adrift_me



Category: GreedFall (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Canon Compliant, Dreams and Nightmares, Gen, Nocturne - Freeform, Purple Prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:33:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22200361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrift_me/pseuds/adrift_me
Summary: And to his cousin’s face he lies about the nightmares gone.“No fear, fair cousin, the illness took them all.”Constantin dreams of all the horrors that soon sweep Teer Fradee.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Fear Come True

**Author's Note:**

> Coming back from my uninspired few months with this little piece of purple prose (my favourite, as you know :D)!  
> Written for a prompt of Constantin's nightmares, but I slightly strayed from that path and went into a slightly different direction!
> 
> [Come chat with me on tumblr :)](https://a-driftamongopenstars.tumblr.com/)

In the ember glow of fire Constantin watches flames lick at nocturnal shadows of the night. His eyes are rested, and his body is reclined amongst the many soft cushions of his bed. One he holds in his arms for the lack of anyone to hug. Little tassels of gold hang from the corners of it and tickle at his gentle skin.

Soon slumber takes him, and oh it takes him to the places he has never seen before.

Constantin watches as the cities are engulfed with hordes of frightful creatures, their skin smoking with sickness and their eyes ravishing at bleeding prey. People in the streets are dying, and Constantin recognizes only too well the swirls and blackness of malichor that has so passionately taken over his home.

He awakes in cold sweat, clutching at the cushion and calling for his dear cousin. No other person, no treat, no soothing potion would calm him until de Sardet makes an appearance in his room and helps Constantin back to sleep.

“I wish I never had to lay my eyes on such horrors, cousin, but instead your face,” Constantin mutters quietly as de Sardet sits beside him.

“Hush and close your eyes. While I’m here, no horror shall touch you,” de Sardet promises, and as always, Constantin believes unconditionally and utterly.

That night no dire fantasy visits Constantin’s mind, but the very next witching hour he is returned to the source of his insomnia.

The visions are so vivid that it turns his blood to ice as he steps through another city now. Dust gathers on his soles - and then he is suddenly barefoot, feeling the hardy cobblestone and splinters that never make it through his skin.

Trees of all kinds, crooked and wilted, spike through what used to be buildings, their carcasses standing there empty, akin to skeletons of ancient creatures. Bricks and wood lie scattered across the streets, and gold, now rendered useless, shimmers against the evening sun.

A creature, its vile body burnt with disease, approaches Constantin, and he flinches away from it. But it does not attack, no tearing bites, no swipes of powerful paws, only curiosity. Odd obedience in those flaming eyes, and Constantin wishes it with all his trembling will away.

Surprisingly, the creature does as it is ordered to.

Constantin’s sweaty hand rises to brush away the strands of blonde hair, only to find hardened roots, antlers protruding from his head like a sinister crown, a little too large, much too odd.

He awakes, crying, begging for a messenger to bring his cousin right away, and De Sardet appears with sympathy and hugs in tow.

More nights are spent in fruitless thrashing as Constantin avoids his sleep. But soon, books begin to bore him, odd pains in his body make him crave for rest, and he succumbs.

And furthermore he succumbs to the very dreams he fears so. Being in control, oh those are things he has always kept a secret pining for. And in his dreams there are no lackeys, no messengers, no person to take away his attentive curb. And hair, locks of gentle gold, catch onto branches of his antler crown.

How nice it would have been to take the reigns in his gentle hands and guided by his cousin’s wisdom make the entire world right?

Constantin barely remembers the dream when he awakes, because there is a fever in his veins and his eyes are too blurry to see, his ears too pained to hear, and his mind too sore to recollect the events of his odd nightmares.

Days go by as does his illness, malichor, they say, and Constantin now relishes the comfort of his nightly horrors. He learns not to fear them and instead drink the visions they provide, feeding into his ever so lively imagination. And to his cousin’s face he lies about the nightmares gone.

“No fear, fair cousin, the illness took them all.”

And dear Constantin soon forgets how illness not only “took” his nightmares, but turned them all to truth.


End file.
